


The end of a string

by Anonymous



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Anal Sex, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, M/M, Mind Control, Oral Sex, POV Second Person, Rape, Topping from the Bottom, rape by envelopment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-29 22:38:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13936890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: He doesn't look at you. You wonder if you should order him to, but it's better like this, somehow - a reminder that he is fully in your control.Kylo Ren Jedi mind-tricks Hux into fucking him. That's it, really. Read the tags, because here be triggers.





	The end of a string

You've just emerged from the shower when General Hux interrupts you. Storming into your quarters, too angry and hyped up and irrepressibly fucking smug to even wait for you to answer the door, which you never do anyway, when it's him.

He must have found a way to break past the access codes. (You should probably lock those down again soon.)

Neither of you seem to care much about your relative state of undress, but you tighten the towel around your waist anyway, trying not to make it look defensive. Much as you like the idea of the General getting an eyeful of your dick, this is not the time to enact that particular fantasy.

"Care to tell me why you didn't fire on the _Raddus_ when you had the opportunity?" he snaps, dropping his datapad on the low table between you. Instantly, your hackles rise. He must have gone through your fighter's external feeds and power consumption records with a fine toothcomb to be able to work that out, but it should be no surprise that Hux has been looking for any opportunity to undermine you.

The fact that your hesitation to fire upon your mother - that shameful moment of vulnerability you have been torturing yourself with over and over since it happened - has now become a matter for the General's scrutiny sparks an enraged seething inside you, and you wonder once more if you could get away with just killing him. Supreme Leader Snoke would not be pleased, but his ire might be worth it. You try to keep these thoughts out of your face as you answer.

"My controls jammed."

"Did they? How very interesting," Hux replies smugly. "I suppose you simply forgot to report this to our repair teams after you disembarked. Strange that none of them reported any evidence of this fault, despite the very thorough inspection I had them perform. Why, if I didn't know better, I would say it never happened at all-"

"Shut up." Your temper flares and gets the better of you, and, without even really thinking about it, your mind reaches out to him, desperate to assert dominance - and he stops. His eyes glaze over. It takes you a second to realize what you've done.

Interesting. Usually Hux is very careful to shield his mind from your influence, but there must have been something about his spiteful triumph that caused him to drop his guard for a moment. The thought nearly makes you smile.

"You're going to leave now," you say soothingly, keeping hold of that delicate thread of control between you, and he repeats your words in a calm and level voice, his gaze resting somewhere behind you.

"I'm going to leave now."

He turns, but in that fraction of a second, you realize it's not enough. You're still angry, and horny, and the feeling of having Hux follow your orders like a common soldier sends a thrill straight down to your groin. "Wait," you say, and he obeys. The next command leaves your mouth almost before you've thought about it. "Come back. You're going to undress for me."

He turns around. His expression is pliant and calm. You realize you have him on the end of a string, and the similarity with his earlier words in Snoke's throne room does not escape you. "I'm going to undress for you," he says, and shrugs off his jacket, letting it drop to the ground in a way that you are sure General Hux would _never_ do under normal circumstances. His hands move next to his belt, and then his shirt, and the muscles of his arms are lean and toned, with a small scattering of freckles on each slim shoulder. For a moment, he stops again, mid-step, and you sense your control waver, but you push a little harder so the connection becomes firm again.

"Keep going," you tell him, and he does, peeling off his vest before efficiently shedding his boots and jodhpurs, and soon he is standing naked before you, his eyes still glassy and distant. It's a surprisingly appealing look on him. He almost seems happy.

You can feel your own breaths pick up with the proximity of his body. You're almost close enough to feel its heat. Carefully, you reach down and unfasten the towel, letting it drop.

"Kneel," you tell him, and he kneels.

"You're going to suck my cock," you tell him.

"I'm going to suck your cock," he replies softly. You're already hard as he takes you in one warm, ungloved hand and parts his lips, dipping his head to take you in. Your hands rest on the back of his head.

Having the arrogant, imperious General Hux on his knees before you with his slick mouth around you is almost enough to get you off on its own, but you want to make this last. "Deeper," you tell him, and he obeys; you note with amusement that even under the influence of mind control, he sucks cock like he was born to it. He's almost certainly done this before, and the thought actually threatens to make you laugh. You wonder what his underlings would think if they knew, how he'd feel if they were to see him like this, and you allow yourself to briefly entertain the fantasy of having him suck you off in full view of the command staff - but the idea is appealing enough that you are in danger of finishing before you've had a chance to take full advantage of the situation. "Stop," you say, and pull his head back. His lips are parted and slick.

"Get on the bed," you say.

He lies down gracefully, eyes coming to rest on the ceiling. The small bottle of lotion on your bedside table is quickly summoned into your hand and you unscrew the top as you straddle him, savouring the feel of having his lithe body pinned beneath your weight. He isn't hard yet, but you can fix that. "You want me," you tell him.

"I want you," he echoes, almost a whisper. You slick up your fingers and reach behind yourself, knowing it won't take you long to be ready. His cock begins to harden slowly, but you're impatient. You tell him to touch himself, and he does; it's a perfunctory and almost clinical action, and yet your body still yearns at the sight of the slim hand working at his stiffening length, slow and methodical. You press your fingers deeper inside yourself as you watch him. He doesn't look at you. You wonder if you should order him to, but it's better like this, somehow - a reminder that he is fully in your control.

"Stop," you say, when you can't wait any longer. "Take this and slick yourself up."

He spreads the liquid over himself obediently, letting the bottle drop beside him when he's done with it - you snatch it up quickly and make a mental note about the limits of mind control before returning your attention to the task at hand. He's fully hard now, oiled and ready for you, and you calmly instruct him to remove his hand before aligning yourself atop him and easing yourself down.

The delicious pressure inside you causes a sound to escape your throat, half-sigh, half-moan, and it's almost too much effort to retain control as you take him in to the hilt. In this position it's easy to angle yourself so his cock is rubbing against that sweet spot inside you and you waste no time in picking up the pace. His breaths quicken - nothing more than an involuntary physical response, but still, it's enough to make your cock throb with need and you wrap a hand around yourself, massaging it in your palm, the friction eased just slightly by the moisture of his mouth and your recent shower.

"Fuck me," you command, and he does, rocking his hips up into you as you ride him in turn. His eyes are distant and half-lidded and so very docile, and it's this, more than anything else, that finally sends you over the edge, spilling into your own hand as you grind down onto him, your flesh tensing deliciously around his.

Suddenly his gaze is on you, and he's not calm any more, not remotely - as you come down from your climax, gasping with the intensity of it, his eyes widen and his breaths grow almost frantic.

Instinctively, you push down with the force to keep him in place as you ride out the last few dregs of your pleasure, and although you have done nothing to silence him, he does not speak, only stares up at you, disbelieving, lips parted, expression rapt with humiliation and shock.

You keep him there for a few moments after you're done, slipping off him again to grab the towel and clean yourself up. His cock is soft between his legs once more, still wet with lube, and he doesn't move immediately, not even when you let him go.

You pick up his shirt. The monomolecular blade in his sleeve comes out easily, and you toss it out of his reach as he lies there, still staring at the ceiling. His body is trembling now.

"Get dressed and get out," you tell him.

You don't need to force him, this time. He does it anyway.


End file.
